My Second Baby Bird

Well, I finally let the cat out of the bag, as it were. Shem and I are expecting again! Here I will answer some questions that most of you are probably too polite to ask, but you're curious about anyway:

1. Yes, we planned this pregnancy.
     It's been really fun this time around because we did the whole, "Hey. You know what would be fun? Another baby. What do you think?" thing. I mean, don't get me wrong, Luke was the best surprise of my life..but there was something extra exciting about the anticipation of trying for a baby.

2. Luke will be 22 months old when the baby comes.
    So, really close to two years old. Originally, I really wanted our first two to be at least two years apart, but the timing just seemed perfect and everything started to come together so we decided to start trying a bit earlier than we'd originally planned. I think 22 months is going to be perfect.

3. I'm super nervous about having another one.
    There are several reasons as to why this is.
    -Babies are hard. I don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but it's more true than you'd think. I'm nervous about adjusting to a newborn while also taking care of a toddler. That is a horrendously terrifying prospect.
    -People might think this is silly, but I do not know how I can possibly love another baby as much as I love Luke. I keep having these thoughts where they'll hand me the baby and I'm like, "Meh. The other one was cuter." AH! I'm sure that experienced parents (including my mother) who have told me that this will not happen are absolutely correct, but still, it makes me nervous.
    -They won't nap at the same time. So. I feel like this means any shred of 'me time' I have been enjoying will be gone. Being as I'm inherently a selfish being, this depresses me. =)

4. I'm also super excited about having another once.
    Obviously. But really. Teeny, tiny toes and fingers, soft hair, the baby smell, how perfectly they fit in your arms at first, the first smile, the first giggle, how they know your smell and voice immediately, watching them learn and figure out the world...just all of it. I'm so excited to have all of those moments again. All of those firsts. Also, I think Luke is going to be the best big brother IN ALL THE LAND.

5. I've been really sick this pregnancy, but not as sick as I was with Luke.
    Thankfully, I've been able to function better this time around. My "morning sickness" has been more on the normal side and even though I do tend to throw up at least once or twice a day and have lost about 5 pounds (you wouldn't know it by looking at me, though...my waist is like a tree trunk right now) I can at least get out of bed and take care of my baby. Of course, I wouldn't be able to do half of what I do if it wasn't for my amazing husband and my family. They have helped and blessed me more than they even know. My sweet husband always crawls out of bed early to bring me food, he's been doing the dishes for weeks now, he helps around the house and takes Luke for me as soon as he gets home since the majority of my nausea/vomiting happens in the evenings. He is my rock. Next time you see him, give him a pat on the back for me and tell him he's awesome.

6. Yes, we are kind of hoping for a girl.
     We haven't done the girl thing yet, so that would be fun. That being said, I have a very strong feeling this baby is a boy. The pregnancies are VERY similar. I'm craving all the same things and all that. And I've had two very vivid dreams that it is a boy. So, I'm gearing myself for a boy. There are a lot of benefits to having a boy. We won't have to buy anything at all. He'd be totally set in terms of clothes and towels and everything else we have that isn't gender-nuetral. So that'd be nice. Also, I think it would be so fun for Luke to have a brother so close in age. They'd wrestle around and do all the fun brother stuff together.

Random facts:
Due: June 22nd (hooray for not being pregnant in July or August!)
Weeks: 10 and 3 days.
Weight gain: None. I'd gained a bit originally, but all that came off plus two more thanks to all the barf.
Gender Reveal: Either the beginning of January or the beginning of February, depending on how patient I can be/how much money I'm willing to spend to be impatient.

Alrighty! That's it. We're excited and we can wait! I'm so excited to feel the first flutters and kicks and all that good stuff and I just can't wait until this baby is in my arms. YAY reproduction!

My Soul-Mate

If you'd asked me three years ago if I believed in soul mates, I would have given you an unequivocal 'no'; explaining my belief that there are many good matches for many good people and that if you're both working hard at your marriage, you can have a successful relationship. I'm sure I would have said it as though I'd really figured all this stuff out. I'm sure I was sure at the time that my theory was fool-proof.

Then I met Shem.

And I really liked him. I liked him a whole lot. And I thought, "I'd bet that we could really work together and make a successful relationship out of this whole mutual attraction thing we've got goin' on here".

So we did.

When we got married, we were madly in love with each other. We knew we were supposed to be together. We knew we were a good match. But I don't think we knew the extent to which our match really was made in heaven.

I firmly and absolutely believe we were meant for each other. I am so completely convinced that Shem is my soul-mate that I can't imagine ever believing there was no such thing.

We're definitely not the same person, though in the ways that matter, he is kind of the male equivalent of me. We both communicate through humor and silliness. We're both people-pleasers and we hate confrontation. We both value family and friends and are loyal to those we love. We communicate in eerily similar ways. Which makes arguments a lot easier to have.

In other ways, though, he really does complete me. I know that sounds unbelievably cheesy, but what else do you call it when your spouse's good qualities are frequently the very qualities that you lack? He is teaching me every day how to be a better person. How to serve selflessly, how to be truly honest, how to relax and let small things go, and how to be calm in the middle of a storm.

I never expected to be converted to the belief in soul mates. And I'm sure that my original theory holds true for some. But let me tell you something: from this side of the fence, a real life soul mate looks like a pretty darn good way to spend eternity.

I can't wait to continue falling more and more in love with my husband every year. It's the best feeling in the world to know that I already love him more than I did the day we got married.

I love you so much!
Happy Anniversary.

The Great Fly War--AKA: The Zombie Fly

Shem and I found a colony of flies living in our house yesterday.

It all started last night. I'd just walked in the kitchen after putting Luke to bed to see Shem holding a full cup of water, waiting for a fly he had found to land. He had a disconcerting look on his face that told me there was every possibility that very soon, that full cup of water was going to be an empty cup of water and a huge mess to sop up.

"Whatcha doin'?" I asked hastily.

"Killing that fly." He answered without breaking eye contact from the winged beasty.

"With what?" There was a slight tremor of fear in my voice now.

"With this water. I'm going to drown it." The fly landed lazily on a rung of the blinds, none the wiser that it's ultimate demise was being plotted by my fully grown husband who was brandishing water as his weapon.

Quickly, I grabbed the fly swatter (yes, we have a fly swatter. I know, right?) from behind the fridge, "Honey. How about instead of flooding the kitchen, we use this aptly named device to swat the fly?"

He paused, "I have a better idea."

Uh-oh.

He grabbed the nipple to a bottle which was in the sink, waiting to be cleaned, and filled it with water, "We can't swat it while it's on the blinds; it'll escape. So, I'll startle it with a squirt of water and then you smack it."

I thought this over for a moment and then, deciding that the stream of water was so tiny it couldn't possibly result in flooding, I agreed.

He squirted it, but instead of flying out towards the woman with a fly swatter (go figure) it flew behind the blinds to seek refuge next to the window.

Shem pull the blinds open so I could get it, and that's when it happened: A torrent, a hurricane, an army of flies was released into my kitchen. I'm not kidding you, there were at least 12 flies and they all flew out at the same time. It was like sick, nasty, hairy, buzzy rain fall. I might have screamed a little bit.

It was then that my inner killer was released. I went crazy. I didn't hold back. No one was safe. Letting out a strangled war-cry, I flung that fly swatter as hard and as fast as I possibly could. Shem swiftly left my presence in an attempt to protect himself. (A wise move, I assure you) The flies broke ranks and scattered in every direction. I killed one. I killed another one. They were dropping like...well...you know...flies. Smashing, crashing, screaming...I really didn't care what I hit or where they were killed. I'd killed four before I paused, searching for more.

I found a few, unwisely chilling on my kitchen wall. After a couple more fly casualties, I had killed as many as I could find. I'd definitely won the battle.

It was now time to sweep up their tiny, squished remains. As I was sweeping, one of the dead ones miraculously resurrected, JUMPED at me and flew into my blouse. (People, I couldn't make this up if I tried.) I screamed, spun around in circles (in case you don't know, that's the proper technique for removing flies from your blouse. You can thank me later) and wiped my outfit vigorously in attempts to remove the nasty un-dead zombie fly from my person. I don't know if it worked. But since then, I've changed my clothes and taken a shower so I think it's safe to say it's no longer on me. Crisis (eventually) averted.

I'd won the battle, but not the war. I think I killed a total of six last night. There are at least six more hanging about my abode. I got two this morning. There is one buzzing stupidly against the inside of the blinds in my bedroom as I write this. There was one that flew out at me from behind the shower curtain as I was getting ready for the day (he will pay for his startling trick) And I know there are others. Ohhhh, are there others. Believe me, I WILL find them. And I WILL kill them. And the zombies? I will DOUBLE kill them. That's how serious I am.

They picked the wrong house, guys. The wrong. House.

Walking, Talking, Shouting. Also Music.

Michelle and I have begun to embark on an exercise routine in the morning again. We've been waking up at seven to go for a walk in the park together. I bring Luke. He plays in the leaves. It's a party.

This morning, on my walk back home from the park, I had my ear buds in and was listening to music. I try and keep the volume really low so that I can hear and respond to Luke as he jabbers about the world. Also, so that I can say hi to people who pass and hear what they say back so that I can avoid embarrassing interactions in which a really old lady will speak to me as though I can hear her and I will try to respond as though I heard her and it just doesn't work out because our conversation is like:

Her: My, what a handsome boy you have!
Me: Thanks! You too.

...yeah...

(Not that this story comes from experience. Okay, who am I kidding? Yes it does.)

So, there I am, walking home when I see a big, rather intimidating man who is also wearing headphones, walking toward me. I smile and look down so as to try and avoid interaction with him because I'm the scardiest scardy-cat of all time and was, at the time, imagining all the horrible things the guy would do to me if he were the type of guy to do horrible things to people like me. You can understand my horror then, when he, assuming I had my music blasting, shouted at the top of his lungs, "GOOD MORNING!"

I think I visibly jumped about a foot before regaining my composure, smiling and saying "good morning" back to him. Then I passed him ...and started walking a lot faster.

Overall, it was a really good workout.

When Luke-A-Duke Puke-A-Duked

Well, it finally happened.

Years before I had children, I dreaded this part of motherhood. I knew I'd be a pro at handling mud, clutter, general messiness, bloody noses, skinned knees, bee stings... I was ready for all of that. Heck, I even knew that explosive diapers would be no match for my supermom alter-ego. Potty training? Sure. Accidents? Bring them on. Two year olds painting with feces? Absolutely.

This is thanks, in part, to the fact that I did so much babysitting/nannying while growing up. Wiping a stranger's child's butt for a living has a way of callousing you toward all other horrifying things in life.

If I'm being honest, when facing most of those things in real life, they are much more terrifying than my naive 16-year-old brain thought they would be, but that isn't the point. The point IS; even at 16 I knew that the somewhere in the dark, shadowy, ugly places of my future the moment would inevitably come that my children would expel through their mouths that which they had just consumed and that it would be far worse than any other horrible happening ever.

This morning I had a meeting with destiny.

I gave my baby a bottle of milk this morning because I needed an extra few minutes to wake up and usually a bottle will buy me those minutes. I never expected, as I walked sleepily back into my room to wake up, that I'd be seeing that milk again so soon.

Twenty minutes later, awake and cheerful, I went to get my boy for a morning filled with laughter, singing and tickle fights.

Then it happened.

I smelled it first. Then I saw it. The barf. I'm not talking about that gunk that newborns hoark up on a daily hourly basis. Spit up has nothing on what happened to me this morning. I yearned for spit up after this morning. I would EAT spit up after this morning.
(no. I completely take that last sentence back.)

Also, he had rolled in it. Because just puking all over the entire right side of his bed, his bumpers and somehow the wall, wasn't gross enough. No, he also needed to paint with it and smear it all over his face and squish it into the strands of his soft hair.

It was then that I cursed the universe for having created this reality in which Shem had to work early today. Only today. Out of any of the days in this week. It had to be today. The cursed day. In which my innocence died.

Two hours and several buckets of scalding hot, soapy water later, the smell was entirely eradicated from my house and order had been restored, Luke was bathed and (kind of) fed. He was hungry, but not presumably because of his icky tummy. So breakfast greatly consisted of his throwing dry toast on the floor and spitting applesauce at me as a thank you for cleaning up his puke. Also, the dust pan was lost because he likes to play with it and put it who-knows-where when he's done, so sweeping up the bread crumbs was another fun adventure brought to you in part by my one-year-old.

I have no idea why he's sick. But I think it has something to do with the fact that he likes sucking on tables when we go out to eat.

So, that's how my day was.
How was yours?

Today's Adventure Brought to You By: Cravings

That moment when you go into a chocolate induced coma at around four o' clock in the afternoon and don't wake up until after five so now at 10:46, you're not the least bit sleepy and instead you're up thinking about nothing and watching youtube videos of X Factor auditions since you don't have cable and as you're thinking about nothing, you realize you should probably not be up watching youtube videos mindlessly waiting to become exhausted, you should instead be running about five miles to burn off all the chocolate you consumed earlier which is in every way responsible for all of this trouble in the first place so you stand up, trying to convince yourself to do a jumping jack or something, but the mental exertion of just thinking about doing something like that so overwhelms you that you realize, happily, that you are now ready for bed.

Arise and Shine, Despite the Rocks

Oh Taylor Swift, you've spoken to my soul yet again.

Five minutes ago I sat here, staring at the one or two sentences that I'd very poorly constructed and not knowing how to move forward. I had a lot to say, I just didn't know how to say it.

Frustrated, I flipped over to glance at Pinterest. Someone had pinned a quote from one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs (eh, who am I kidding? All of her songs are my favorite) which miraculously unblocked my writer's block.

Now, the nice thing about Taylor Swift is that while she isn't Bob Dylan (Thank goodness. I'll give you that the guy is a lyrical genius, but my heavens his voice sounds like a toad that was hit by a train in the vocal chords) she just knows how to talk to me. I don't know what it is about the way she writes her music, but I relate and or have in the past related to about 90% of her material.

My friend Kyla and I used to joke that she writes our lives. It's so truuuuue, Ky! So true.

Back to it: Thanks to the anonymity that social media allows, strong and passionate opinions (oftentimes unedited and unfiltered) have been flying for the past three months about a myriad of different social issues, none of which this post is about. This has all lead to my current plight which is that I'm feeling under attack as a religious, right leaning, young wife and mother who on occasion allows her voice to be heard when it comes to social issues I feel strongly about.

I'm also feeling frustrated that I can't seem to express myself concisely. I'm frustrated at my inability affect change; to soften hearts; to share the love that I have for the things I believe without having the them torn apart and thrown back in my face as twisted, ugly, evil things.

"Arise and shine forth that they light may be a standard to the nations"

I'm tryin' to shine, here, people! Why are you not catching fire??

Maybe it's because I'm trying to light buckets of water.

So then Taylor told me in a song she wrote:
"Don't you worry your pretty little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine."

Like two little boys, sitting on a pile of dirt who see that thing glinting in the sun which turns out to be an aluminum can, perched on a fence and they decide to see who can knock it down first.

If you put it up there, there will always be people who want to knock it down. But that doesn't mean you should stop putting it up there.

I will never convince everyone to believe what I believe. I may never convince anyone to believe what I believe...but that's okay. What matters is that I shared what I believe and didn't back down when accusations flew or personal attacks were made. I'm not going to stop shining just because you keep trying to put my light out. I'm not going to stop hanging out on fences just because you keep trying to knock me down.

Because gosh darn it, I'm a shiny aluminum can, glinting in the sunlight!!

...well, you get the point...

I'm NOT pregnant. But I Sure Feel Skinny Now.

*Disclaimer: Parts of this post may be considered "TMI" please proceed with caution*

So, I was late this month if ya know what I mean. (There, I'm getting the TMI parts out of the way early. Feel free to read on, that's as graphic as it gets.)

The reasons this freaked me out are thusly:

1. EVERYONE I talk to lately has been asking me when I'm going to have another baby. My response is usually something like: when Luke stops being one.

2. I've had three people in the last two weeks ask if I'm expecting again. I do not know why this is occurring. I'm not even getting fatter! Maybe I was wearing the wrong sort of shirt or something. But gee...way to make me feel lovely guys. Upon discovering that I'm late this month, my mind of course immediately jumped to the conclusion that I MUST be pregnant if people are asking me about it.

3. Since Luke was a surprise, I'm pretty much convinced every single month that I'm pregnant. This month was no exception, but it WAS the first month that I was ACTUALLY late.

So, I finally broke down (my husband would snort himself silly if he read that, because he knows that 'broke down' actually means 'chomping at the bit') and bought a pregnancy test.

I was at Walmart.

So were about 25 other Mormons that I knew.

I managed to sneak the thing into my cart without any of them being the wiser, but it made me nervous and jumpy so the conversations I had with them were the most awkward conversations of all time: "Uh. Yeah. Hi. Good to see you. Is that your daughter in your cart? Oh..haha...yeah, I'm glad she's yours and not some random stranger's or something. That'd be weir...okay, yeah! You too. See ya."

So it was negative. But there was this blurry line in the place where the positive line is supposed to go, so (because I'm kind of baby hungry and simultaneously terrified of being pregnant ever, ever again) I naturally had to buy another test to make sure.

This time I chose the dollar store.

I had a feeling about this checker before she even rung me up. Something about the way she said, "Welcome to the Dollar Tree!" so cheerfully when I came in. I just knew she would say something about the test. I just knew.

Sure enough: "Ooooo. You're gonna be in trouble."

Not what I expected.

In the absence of my response, she repeated herself, but directed her comments at Luke. Because that's not creepy.

"She gonna be in trouble!"

Luke didn't answer, so I finally said, "No. We'd actually be pretty happy."

So then she told Luke that HE would be in trouble. So I told Luke to tell her that he would be excited. He didn't.

But I think she got the message.

ANYWHOO...lest I keep you all at the edge of your seats that test was VERY DEFINITELY negative so. No new Hawks yet. Which is actually probably a good thing *sigh* since Luke is still so little. But it was an exciting adventure nonetheless.

The Expression Should Be: "Grows Like a Luke"

Now that Luke is walking everywhere and is sitting in a 'big boy' car seat, he seems more and more like a toddler and less and less like a baby. These developments are bitter sweet.

                             What happened to my wrinkled, squishy, immobile lump of cute?

Now he's a rambunctious, curious mover with an aptitude for flirting the likes of which I have never beheld in one so young.



He also sleeps through the night. Which is a bonus. And he feeds himself (when he isn't delighting in throwing corn on the floor and or rubbing pizza enthusiastically into his long, blond hair).

He knows the word "ball" because balls are his favorite things in the entire world short of myself and daddy. He has one in his hand at all times and frequently engages whomever is handy in a game of catch. And gosh darn it if he isn't the most accurate little aimer you've ever seen. He's got quite the arm.

He knows the word "dada".

He says "mama" when he's upset or wants to get out of his crib or needs a good hug, but I'm not sure that he associates that word with me 100% of the time. Whereas with "dada", if I ask Luke "Where is daddy?" he toddles off to find him or points and says "dada!" He's not quite doing that with "mama" yet.

He knows where his toes are. I tell him "Luke, get your toes" and he does. Because he's a genius basically.

He points at everything.

He knows the ASL signs for "more", "eat", "bottle" and "out".

He throws a mighty fit when he doesn't get what he wants. And what he wants is usually my cell phone. And what he wants with my cell phone is usually the marvelous reaction I give when he throws it on the floor with violent force.


But he's easily distracted.

I delight in him every single day. Being his mommy is the best thing in the whole, wide world.  I love watching the world through his discoveries. I can't believe that he's walking now! What a big boy he is. And what a joy.

That One Time When I Stood Up To Two (probable) Attackers To Defend My Baby

Yesterday Michelle, Luke and I were at my parent's house alone. Someone knocked. Michelle looked out the peep-hole.

Me: "Who is it?"
Her: "I dunno. A big, Mexican guy. I don't know him."
Me:"Don't answer it."

Already you must ask. Was this interaction racist?
Firstly, if the guy had been large and white, would Michelle have referenced his race at all? Would she have said "I dunno. A big, white guy. I don't know him." No. She probably would have said, "I dunno. Some big dude. I don't know him." Now, I don't know that that necessarily implies racism. I think if Michelle and I were black (and let's face it, we've both got an inner, fabulous black girl) and a strange white person had knocked on the door, we would have undoubtedly referenced his race. HOWEVER; the underlying fear I had in the pit of my stomach...was THAT racism? Or was it just stranger danger made more prominent on accounta the helpless baby child that I am sworn to protect?

Let's explore the issue further:
A moment passes. The man rattles the gate again. (Fun fact, our doorbell is broken and we keep our front gate locked so as to keep strangers at a distance when we answer the door. It becomes a problem that people can't knock. Or ring a bell. Or in any other way signal their desire to converse with the dwelling's inhabitants.) He rattles again. Michelle and I both look at each other with a, "I wish he'd go away, he's making me nervous" face.

Then....he yells. "Is anybody home??"
"What the crap?" I say, traipsing with my baby over to the peep-hole. I peer out. I'm shocked and worried to discover that he has removed the fake, plastic rock that offers an aesthetically pleasing cover for the myriad of wires and other such uglies that sit in the front yard. That's when I notice there are two of them, and they're rummaging through the wires and such.
"What the crap?" I repeat. And I fling the door open, my heart beating a million miles a minute as I cling tightly onto my helpless baby child.
They look up, surprised. They stutter and seem ashamed for some reason.
Hm.
Me: "Um. Can I help you?"
Them: "Yeah. Uh. Your...the man...your dad? The guy who lives here...he wanted us to do the yard."
Pause.
In my mind: 'We have gardeners already. Why would my dad have hired new ones? The old ones were here yesterday. I'm so confused. These guys are totally ripping us off right now. I have no idea what to do in this situation. They're probably going to ask to come in and I'll have to let them because I don't know how to say no. Then, they're going to steal Luke. I can't let that happen! I must DO something! I must say no! I mustn't let them rape me! I need to say something, I've been standing here thinking for about 5 minutes now in complete silence!'
Them: "Uh. Can we talk to him?"
Pause
In my mind: 'Crap. He's not home. I don't want to TELL them he's not home...then they'll know there is no man here and there are two of them and they're big guys and we're all helpless and female-like. They will undoubtedly force their way in through the metal gate -undoubtedly they have the strength of Herculean gods and will merely pry the bars apart. However, if I tell them my dad will be home in five minutes, they will come back in five minutes. And he won't be back in five minutes. But I can't tell them that. They'll steal Luke! I must stop them! I mustn't let them rape me! Crap. I need to say something, I've been standing here in silence again.'
Me: "Uh."
Them: *Awkward shuffle*
In my mind: 'I should probably figure out if they're imposters. I have a fool-proof way to decide. Ha! At last I know what to say. And I will sound intimidating and fierce and assertive and I'll probably scare the pants off of them.'
Me: "Um. Whatcha doin' with that rock?"
Them: "Oh. We're...it's the...the sprinklers. We're supposed to fix the sprinklers."
Michelle: "Oh yeah...dad did mention that the other day. Here, I'll give you his number so you can call him."

And then they fixed our sprinklers.
And I felt stupid.
And a little racist.
And a little like a fierce mama lion; ready and willing to protect her youngling by any means necessary.

Testimony

We should be able to tell the people we love what we're thinking, even if we're wrong, without being afraid that it will alter the amount they love us. My husband has a theory that you can tell anyone anything if you say it in the right way. Part of me agrees with this and the other part disagrees. Sometimes, the truth is hard to hear but sometimes we have to be told what the truth is anyway. Hearing the truth come from someone who you consider to be 'beneath you' would be even harder than hearing the truth come directly from God or a parent or a leader...but it's still the truth. Even if it comes in a somewhat humbling form, the responsibility to recognize truth regardless of the package it is delivered in, is ours.

There are so many things I'd like to say to so many people I love, but I feel conflicted between my desire to pound the truth into their skulls and my desire to keep them in my life without changing the nature of our relationship. Though the circumstances for each of these people differ greatly, the heart of the truth that I'd gladly scream off of rooftops if I thought that would change any opinions is this:

The Church of Jesus Christ has been restored. It is on the Earth today in its fullness. God lives! He hears and answers prayers. He loves ALL of His children. Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He lived and died for us because He loves us more than we can possibly imagine. He doesn't just love the 'good' parts...He loves ALL of you! He wants you to be with Him. He wants you to return. Heavenly Father commissioned Christ to create a path for us to follow that will lead us back to Him. Thanks to modern day revelation, we know what that path is. There is one church, one baptism and one God. It doesn't matter what you believe...this is the reality: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is His church restored on the Earth today. The Book of Mormon is a true book that was written by ancient prophets. It testifies of Christ and tells of His visit to the American continent after His crucifixion. The church is true. The people aren't perfect, but God, who leads and directs His church IS perfect. He will work out all the kinks. And He loves you.

You can't possibly begin to imagine how much He loves you.

What a beautiful thing to believe. Why wouldn't you want to?

True Love

I am in love with love.

Not being in love, not falling in love...I am in love with true love.

I just read an article that blew my mind. Many people probably thought it was about same-sex attraction and I will admit that it was an underlying theme, but no. It was about true love. My mind was blown in about seven different directions. I feel like I understand what true love is more deeply then I ever, ever have. I want to shout this quote from rooftops and make people understand what it means:

“I think so many people rely on their hormones and/or their emotions to drive them that they get stuck feeling for their spouse whatever those things tell them to feel. And then if they try to feel otherwise, to love their spouse more than what hormones or emotions tell them to, they feel like they’re doing their spouse a favor rather than recognizing that they hadn’t understood how to truly love in the first place.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW EARTH-SHATTERINGLY PERFECT THAT QUOTE IS??

True love is not connected to hormones. Hormones are just a nice little bonus that Heavenly Father gave us to help us enjoy falling in and being in love. But hormones, while nice, are temporal attributes of love. True love -the kind of love that Heavenly Father feels for us, the kind that Christ exemplified every day of His earthly life- is eternal. It is Celestial. It is spiritual.

This article absolutely, positively changed my life and the way I view love. I highly recommend it. Here's the link:

http://mormonlife.com/story/68799-living-with-same-sex-attraction-our-story

A Controversy Makes For Exciting Blogging Material(An accidental double post)

Today, while I was doing my daily facebook stalking, I was reading a friend's status update. It was about gay marriage. The chain of comments that followed were also about gay marriage. And more specifically about how 'stupid' and 'ignorant' and 'hateful' and 'ugly' the people who oppose gay marriage are. For WEEKS now, this subject has been bothering me, but I haven't said anything about it yet so now my thoughts have built to this point where my they are a bit too lengthy to fit in a status update. Thus, I blog. I thought I'd use the few thoughts that I used for my status update as a starting point and we'd go from there. 

I'm glad that I have such a diverse group of friends and that you all have strong opinions and are willing to share them. HOWEVER; hating people who hate gay people (WRONG though they may be) is hypocritical. Hating people who are against gay marriage, but who DON'T necessarily hate gay people (no, those two life views are not synonymous) is worse than hypocritical. It's ugly. It's mean. And you are wrong to do it. Spouting hate in ANY direction is wrong. If you believe in gay marriage, good for you...defend it. But leave those of us who defend traditional marriage alone to do as we believe is right.

For the record, I am against gay marriage. I believe in the sanctification of marriage for both religious and social reasons. Mostly, I believe that the term 'marriage' is defined as being a union between a man and a woman and that when a gay or lesbian desire to be joined, they are entering into a different kind of agreement. They can't be entering into a marriage because marriage is not defined as a union of two people who love each other. If two people who love each other and just happen to be two females or two males desire to be joined together contractually and spend the rest of their lives together, that is just fine...it just has to be called something different because it is a different kind of union. 

This is not a position of hate. It is not a position of ignorance. I have no fear of or hatred towards homosexuals. Some of my favorite people in the world just happen to be gay. I have no desire to keep gay people apart. I have no agenda to 'eradicate' them from society. I am a live and let live kinda gal. Your choices are your choices. HOWEVER, when you start trying to legally change the definition of something that has the potential to directly affect me and my ability to choose, I have to stand up against it. 

I don't want to go into any more detail about my beliefs about gay marriage than I already have. That's not what this post is about...if you have more questions, please feel free to ask me. I'm always up for a discussion about it. 
The point of this entry, however, is this: disagreeing with me is one thing; you are entitled to your opinion; BULLYING me, berating me, hating me, or verbally assaulting me because of my beliefs is a different thing entirely. It is completely hypocritical, morally objectionable, inappropriate and just plain rude. Just because someone thinks differently than you, doesn't mean you have the right to be condescending or judgmental. Isn't that one of the reasons you get so annoyed with the 'Christians' who spout off horrible comments about gays? Aren't you exuding the VERY BEHAVIOR you are seeking to abolish? 

You are allowed to express your opinion and I'm allowed to express mine. But can't we do so lovingly, understandingly and with regard to everyone's right to believe as they choose? I don't deserve to be called a bigot or hateful or any of the other things I just read in those comments. You don't know me. You don't know what I believe. You don't try to understand it or see where I'm coming from...you just label me and put me in a category because of something I believe in. 

Rude. 

Just stop it. 

A Controversy Makes For Exciting Blogging Material

Today, while I was doing my daily facebook stalking, I was reading a friend's status update. It was about gay marriage. The chain of comments that followed were also about gay marriage. And more specifically about how 'stupid' and 'ignorant' and 'hateful' and 'ugly' the people who oppose gay marriage are. For WEEKS now, this subject has been bothering me, but I haven't said anything about it yet so now my thoughts have built to this point where my they are a bit too lengthy to fit in a status update. Thus, I blog. I thought I'd use the few thoughts that I used for my status update as a starting point and we'd go from there. 

I'm glad that I have such a diverse group of friends and that you all have strong opinions and are willing to share them. HOWEVER; hating people who hate gay people (WRONG though they may be) is hypocritical. Hating people who are against gay marriage, but who DON'T necessarily hate gay people (no, those two life views are not synonymous) is worse than hypocritical. It's ugly. It's mean. And you are wrong to do it. Spouting hate in ANY direction is wrong. If you believe in gay marriage, good for you...defend it. But leave those of us who defend traditional marriage alone to do as we believe is right.

For the record, I am against gay marriage. I believe in the sanctification of marriage for both religious and social reasons. Mostly, I believe that the term 'marriage' is defined as being a union between a man and a woman and that when a gay or lesbian desire to be joined, they are entering into a different kind of agreement. They can't be entering into a marriage because marriage is not defined as a union of two people who love each other. If two people who love each other and just happen to be two females or two males desire to be joined together contractually and spend the rest of their lives together, that is just fine...it just has to be called something different because it is a different kind of union. 

This is not a position of hate. It is not a position of ignorance. I have no fear of or hatred towards homosexuals. Some of my favorite people in the world just happen to be gay. I have no desire to keep gay people apart. I have no agenda to 'eradicate' them from society. I am a live and let live kinda gal. Your choices are your choices. HOWEVER, when you start trying to legally change the definition of something that has the potential to directly affect me and my ability to choose, I have to stand up against it. 

I don't want to go into any more detail about my beliefs about gay marriage than I already have. That's not what this post is about...if you have more questions, please feel free to ask me. I'm always up for a discussion about it. 
The point of this entry, however, is this: disagreeing with me is one thing; you are entitled to your opinion; BULLYING me, berating me, hating me, or verbally assaulting me because of my beliefs is a different thing entirely. It is completely hypocritical, morally objectionable, inappropriate and just plain rude. Just because someone thinks differently than you, doesn't mean you have the right to be condescending or judgmental. Isn't that one of the reasons you get so annoyed with the 'Christians' who spout off horrible comments about gays? Aren't you exuding the VERY BEHAVIOR you are seeking to abolish? 

You are allowed to express your opinion and I'm allowed to express mine. But can't we do so lovingly, understandingly and with regard to everyone's right to believe as they choose? I don't deserve to be called a bigot or hateful or any of the other things I just read in those comments. You don't know me. You don't know what I believe. You don't try to understand it or see where I'm coming from...you just label me and put me in a category because of something I believe in. 

Rude. 

Just stop it. 

Life Lessons

Lessons learned while trying to duplicate the J-Dawgs secret hot dog sauce for dinner tonight:

1. I should pay attention to what I bought in the prior week, before making grocery purchases. I am now the proud owner of two and a half bottles of katsup, two large-ish bottles of cumin, and four jars of salsa.

2. Pickles are always worth the inevitable pickle-juice explosion that occurs when opening a new jar.

3. Procrastination can be beneficial. I'm really glad I didn't mop before making dinner. Because I had to open a new jar of pickles.

4. Marinade looks exactly like BBQ sauce.

5. Marinade tastes NOTHING like BBQ sauce.

6. J-Dawgs sauce is incapable of duplication.

7. But the stuff I made was pretty darn close and was completely worth having to scratch the first batch to make a second.

About My Cozy Nosey. And the Bugs That Go There.

I've decided that it's high time I write an entry about weird things that are happening to my body. Because who wouldn't want to spend the next five minutes feeling a little creeped out?

1. This classy lassy must have a cozy nosey because three bugs have paid my inner nostrils a visit in the last week. My theories on why this is happening are these: Either a) I breathe extremely deeply and am sucking them in like a tractor beam or b) my nostrils are extra comfy, slightly warm and offer a welcome break from the heat. It's not like I want to seem inhospitable but I sincerely wish they would stop going in there because it tickles and is fairly distracting while I drive. Why do they go in so easily and why are they then so hard to get out? I'm pretty sure about 90% of Bakersfield sincerely believes I pick my nose while I'm in my car. What an awful way for these winged beasties to meet their demise. Death by picking. You might think this is funny, but I assure you it's snot.

2. I'm itchy. I can't remember if this happens to me every summer but hot dang! It's annoying. I think it's on account of all the extra sweating one does when it's in the lower 90 degrees in April. My skin is rebelling against this ridiculously warm spring. Also, it might be because I spent a whopping .97 cents on a body wash at WalMart. Never again, I assure you. I was going for an inexpensive boost to my scent and ended up with..rabies or something. I'm pretty sure it's rabies. Rabies gives you itchy bumps on your belly, right?

3. The hair I lost while I was pregnant (which was excessive, let me assure you) is now growing back. This means that the front of my hair has little patches of new hair that is a foot shorter than the rest of my hair. I have a collection of mini-fros all over my hair line. It's super attractive.

4. I keep losing two pounds and then inexplicably gaining it back. I'm not really changing anything, so this is a mystery to me. I'm fairly happy with my weight right now...I wouldn't complain if I lost another 6 pounds or so, but hey..6 pounds is nothing. I'm sure it'll come off soon, if the current two pounds that are playing games with me will ever completely shed.

Anywhoo...bodies are weird and glorious and disgusting and beautiful all at the same time. I'm grateful for clothing. And my super cute swimsuit. And deodorant. And band-aids.

And I Couldn't Find My Camera!

Luke has one of those walker toys that you sit the baby in and their feet touch the floor so they can roll about the house at their leisure. He hates sitting in that thing. Good thing I only spent 5 bucks on it at a yard sale. But today he discovered that he can pull himself up on it and hang on to the back of it and push it around the house. So I suppose he's still using it as a 'walker'. In fact, it's more a 'walker' being used in that way than it is when he's sitting and rolling in it. I think maybe he knows that. "Walker? Walker, they call it? But they keep sitting me in it. This is absurd. I shall let my protests for this stupidity be known in the form of discontented whining until I am removed from this ridiculous contraption so that I am free to wander about and discover more useful pursuits."

Anywhoo, his uneven, shy steps were the cutest thing I've ever seen. (she says in the most unbiased fashion) AND I COULDN'T FIND MY CAMERA! Blast.

I'm going to miss my seven month old bundle! Every day he gets closer and closer to being my eight month old bundle which puts him closer to being my one year old bundle and then he'll be my toddler bundle and then my very grown-up man with children of his own bundle! Okay, no. But someday. Man, I love that baby boy.

My little sister, Mallory, is going to take family pictures of us on Sunday.

I ate a crap ton of sugar this week. Diet fail. But it's okay! Miraculously I gained not a pound despite the chocolate bunny binge. And the entire box of mac and cheese I consumed on Tuesday. That was a dark day. =)

Um. Hunger Games was absolutely mind-blowingly awesome. I've seen it thrice. Gary Ross and Suzanne Collins were a killer team. (killer. ha. get it?) Brilliantly crafted. I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous that he has opted out of doing the sequel because the sequels in that series are severely lacking in my opinion and I thought perhaps Mr. Ross could help things along in the 'that was an awesome story!' department. But, alas. We shall see what is to become of them.

It's raining. I love it. I'm still in my PJs and it's 2:00pm. Do you understand how glorious that feels? Glorious.

Also, our house is all better. No more skylight. Hooray for roofs and ceilings and rain staying outside this time!

...But I'm Happy!

Our house fell down this weekend. And in the same day I got a cold and started my period. Also, my Grandma is in the hospital.

But tonight, I was rocking my little boy and singing songs to him about Heavenly Father and I just knew I wasn't alone. I was so warm and so happy. And he fell asleep in my arms; feeling safe, protected and like everything was right in the world. Despite the piles of furniture that are camping out in his room right now. Despite the gaping holes in our ceiling. Despite the musty smell and the worried Mama.

And I felt like maybe I am doing something right.

=)

Daddy In A Box

My Anxiety Light Bulb

Read a talk by Jeffery R. Holland this morning (he is my favorite.) that made a light bulb go off in my head. There were several light-bulb moments, but amongst the most profound was this:

(Here he is quoting from a letter he received from a young mother in regards to her anxieties about raising children.)

"Maybe it is precisely our inability and anxiousness that urge us to reach out to Him and enhance His ability to reach back to us. Maybe He secretly hopes we will be anxious,” she said, “and will plead for His help."

Wait. What? We are given anxiety for a reason??

I had never thought of it like that. I've always thought of my anxiety as a weakness...I'd thought it represented a mis-trust in my Father in Heaven. I thought it showed how much my faith was lacking. It never occurred to me that maybe it's a gift from my Heavenly Father; designed to lead me to Him...designed to bring me to my knees.

All of our weaknesses eventually become strengths.

Worry leads me to my Father; teaches me to rely on Him. Worry about my baby leads me to pray about my baby. Feelings of inadequacy bring me to One who is completely adequate. They humble me and teach me to trust more completely in Him.

Every moment I plead with my Father during a moment of panic or fear is a moment that I'm speaking to Him; that I am displaying trust in Him.

My mind has been blown, ladies and gentlemen.

It's a good talk....here's the link in case you're interested:

http://www.lds.org/ensign/1997/05/because-she-is-a-mother?lang=eng&cid=facebook-shared

How Doctor Who Helped Me Find My "GAH!"

I've decided it's time for a light-hearted post as last two were fairly heavy and border-line depressing.

My baby is sleeping and I've officially caught up on everyone's blogs. I've also cleaned my living room, finished my laundry (washed, folded AND put away all in the same day. Wonders never cease.) AND have begun defrosting dinner. (Which means I put frozen meat in a bowl of hot water. Be impressed.)

I live my life through a series of obsessions. It's a delightfully nerdy way to live. When I was eight, I couldn't get over The Babysitter's Club. I read every single book in the series and even formed my own "Babysitter's Club" with my very good friends, Jenni and Gracie. Good times they were; waiting desperately by the phone for the calls of parents needing a sitter and offering cash. Spoilers: They never came. At least there were snacks.

Then I turned eleven and became much more sophisticated and delved into the world of Harry Potter, never to fully return to reality. I still read the entire series about once ever two years and will probably do this for the rest of my life. I don't think I can accurately describe my love for that world...or at least...I can't describe what it used to be. Imagine a large-ish explosion of joy and giddy noise. That was me every time I heard a word that rhymed with 'muggle'.

Then, I went through my American Idol phase. Every Tuesday and Wednesday night I would turn the volume up as loud as I could without being kicked out by my parents. I would then become drastically attached to certain contestants and would hope with all the fervor that a 15-year-old heart could muster that Paula and Simon were secretly lovers. But it was after the show ended that the true nerd-fest could begin. We're talking hours of singing whiney ballads into hairbrushes for a rapt audience of stuffies. Until my dad would come in and tell me the madness must cease. I'm not lying, guys, it was awesome.

We're not going to talk about my tiny Twilight phase...mostly because people I really respect read this blog and I don't want them to learn the truth. So we'll skip over that and briefly mention Star Trek, (remember that Thanksgiving break when my entire family rented and watched EVERY. SINGLE. MOVIE.?) Pirates of the Caribbean, Lord of the Rings, and pretty much any other nerdy, main-stream movie or book that was being produced. I devoured them all.

I also delved into the area of obsession over Broadway shows which is an entirely other category of nerd. Steven Sondheim and I had out moment in the sun; Into the Woods, Sweeney Todd, Sunday in the Park With George...I learned them all by heart. Any musical that used to be a Disney movie also won my heart. And I had to allow room for the Phantom of the Opera and Wicked goodness since everyone and their dog loved it even if they didn't know Broadway like I knew Broadway.

Then, suddenly, life became real and the well of obsession ran dry for a couple of years. I mean, I still loved movies and books and musicals and all kinds of good things...but it wasn't the same. It wasn't live or die love. It wasn't heart pounding, can't wait to get my hands, eyes and ears all OVER that business kind of interest. I read The Hunger Games during this dry spell. Loved those books...but that was it. I just loved them. I didn't live them.

I've been missing those moments where my thoughts and rare spare moments have been filled with something that I just can't get enough of. I've been hoping and wishing that something would come along. In desperation, I've been re-reading and re-watching some old favorites; hoping that something would ignite the spark that I know is in me to fall in love with a story. And I liked it all, as I always do...but it didn't make me feel like thing. That "GAH!" thing. You know?

So then, Michelle and Andrea were like, "Hey, you should watch Doctor Who."

And I was like, "No. It's stupid."

And they were like, "No. It's brilliant. And you'd love it."

And I was like, "No. I'm too pregnant." Which didn't make any sense, but at the time, I was using that excuse for just about everything.

But as I started getting settled in Bakersfield after our move and started getting more and more pregnant and more and more restless, I finally relented out of sheer boredom. But I decided I'd make fun of it as thoroughly as I could. I was determined to stay detached. I was desperate not to love it. I was convinced that I would never stoop so low as to be associated with the amount of nerdiness required to love that show. I mean, he flies through time and space in a blue police box and has adventures.

My plan worked for the first season. It was horrifyingly cheesy. The only reason I stuck with it was because there would be an odd episode here and there that was scary enough that I was mildly entertained. Also, I was so pregnant and it was so hot that I was basically stuck on the couch and Michelle and Andrea forced it on me. And then...David Tennant became the Doctor. And my world began to become a little bit more exciting. And then it became more exciting. And more exciting. And every episode made me happier and happier. And that spark...that "GAH!" began to flicker.

I remember very distinctly the moments following David Tennant's farewell and Matt Smith's debut as the new Doctor. Shem watched David's final episode with us. We drove home together after it was over. I don't remember what we talked about because my memories of the night consist of the Luke-sized lump in my throat as I choked back the tears that were threatening to escape and embarrass the snot out of me in front of my ridiculously good-looking husband. Later, when I was alone, I would unleash the torrents of hysteric sobs and be embarrassed only in front of me. And boyyyy did I judge myself for that moment. I'm still judging myself for that moment. But that was the moment! The "GAH!" moment. The moment where I realized, "Finally! I've found that new something. I. Am. So. Excited."

So, I gave Matt Smith a chance even though I was convinced I'd never love him like I'd loved David. But then, they gave us River and now my Doctor Who obsession is complete and all-encompasing. I can't get enough. I love every bit of it. I love the writing, the directing, the acting, the story, the characters, the special effects (okay, I lied about the special effects...let's face it...they're kinda Power Rangers meets 2001: Space Odyssey. They make you want to die.) I've been...converted, if you will. And now, with only two more episodes until the season 6 finale...I am dying a little on the inside. It'll be 2 or 3 more months until my "GAH!" can once again be satisfied. But I can't resist...I just want to devour the remaining three episodes.

I love life. There are just so many fun things to enjoy. So many "GAH!" moments to live through. I live for my "GAH!" moments. Everyone needs one every once in a while...they make all things become fantastic.

To my fellow Whovians:

May you continue to tweet Steven Moffat ceaselessly to inform him that we would (please) demand that River become the new companion when Amy and Rory have bade the show adieu.

And to those of you who have a little nerd in your heart:

I highly recommend Doctor Who as your next nerdy endeavor.

And to those of you who are judging me for this entire post:

Why are you still reading this?? I'm a little impressed that you made it through the whole thing.

On: Death and Dying

Warning: proceed with caution. I'm not gonna lie, this entry is not coming up roses. It's rather morose. It does have a happy ending...but even that's a little rocky. So. Just. Know that you're reading thought vomit. No impulse control went into this entry.

*Disclaimer: I am not depressed. I am quite happy. I love my life. Everyday is beautiful. It's just this one thing lately...this one...something...

Sometimes I can't figure out the right words. This is one of those times. There's this...something inside of me. It's just out of my grasp; just outside the boundaries of my ability to communicate it. It's an emotion, I think; it's a repetitive theme that's been swirling around lately. Death? Loss? The feeling associated with separation? Coming to terms with my own mortality? I can't quite put a finger on it.

All I know is that there are four facts I believe are responsible for this new-found irrational fear of loss and death and such:

1. It has been EVERYWHERE lately.

I don't know what's going on, but suddenly all of these tragic stories are popping up about children dying or old friends or people's grandparents or their spouses or THEMSELVES. (I watched "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch and let me tell you, it is fantastically uplifting and morbidly depressing all at the same time. I highly recommend it.) On Sunday in Relief Society we were having a lesson on women in church history. These women overcame things that I can't even begin to imagine. I know it was supposed to be inspiring and make us feel strong and capable as women, but it left me feeling absolutely broken-hearted for them instead. Which is weird for me. I usually tend to focus more on the uplifting parts of lessons like that. Some of it probably had to do with the fact that I was holding my precious, perfect, sleeping little boy while they read a story about a woman who's son was born while they were on their pilgrimage to the Salt Lake Valley. He was born in the summer, so he did alright for the first five months, but then they arrived in Utah and built a house just in time for winter. A month into that winter, the baby got sick and no matter how hard the mother and her sister tried to keep him from dying, he finally succumbed. Well. Awesome. So here I am with my sweet, sleeping five month old boy and I'm listening to this story about this mother fighting through the night to quiet her dying baby's cries. I literally had to leave the room I was sobbing so hard. And it wasn't the good kind of sobbing where you're having all of these realizations and spiritual epiphanies. This provides a good segue into reason number 2 that I'm struggling with this whole 'death' concept:

2. I'm entirely too empathetic.

I inherited this trait from my mother. When I say I feel your pain...I am not exaggerating. I FEEL your pain. I mean, granted, I don't claim to feel it to the degree that you are undoubtedly feeling it...but let me tell you, it will keep me up at night. I cry for mother's who have lost babies harder now that I have my own. I cry for widows harder now that I'm married. I feel that ache more profoundly than I ever have before which leads us to number three:

3. I love more deeply than I used to.

I've always been highly emotional. I think with my heart, not with my head. But ever since July of 2010 when I fell in love for the first time, I have started to experience a different level of love. Then, I welcomed a baby boy into my home and I can't even begin to describe how much it hurts to love that child. It's like you love so hard it breaks your heart. So if loving him hurts, can you imagine what losing him would feel like??

4. I've never done the loss thing.

My junior year, a friend of mine passed away. It was sudden. She was 17. We were best friends when I was 8 and 9. We used to have sleep-overs and slip n' slide parties and play Game-Boy together and sing together...all that good stuff. Then, I moved to Bakersfield and we sort of lost contact. Every once in a while I'd see her at dances and we'd chat. The last time I ever spoke to her, I told her I loved her name and I wanted to have a daughter with that name someday. She laughed. Then I danced away. The next time I heard her name, my mother was telling me she'd been in a car accident. Her funeral was one of the hardest things I've ever been to. But it wasn't because we were close. It was because of the look on her mother's face. It was grief I can't comprehend. It was like every part of her was shattered...her world had been taken from her...she couldn't function. Standing probably took every ounce of strength she had. I can't get that face out of my head. It hurts me when I see it. I don't ever want to look like that. I haven't had to yet. I haven't even lost a grandparent. Both sets are still alive. The closest encounters I have had with death have been experienced through people I am close with...and those about kill me.

And here's the rub: I believe in an afterlife. Can you imagine the pain involved in loss if you DIDN'T believe in an afterlife??

I know that death is a part of this life. I know that it is a necessary step. My theology is very specific on the death subject. It's very hopeful. We are sealed together for time and all eternity; never to lose each other completely. What a beautiful doctrine! I know that doctrine is full of hope and truth and comfort, but lately I can't tap into that.

What about right now? What about that hurt that makes you feel like you can't move?

Someday soon, and again and again, I will learn how to move after a loss. I'm dreading it. I wish I knew when it was coming, or in what form it is coming. But I don't and that is part of death's power: fear of the unknown. It could come at any time to any one in any form. It could be fast. It could be slow and drawn out. It could be unexpected. It could be planned and prepared for. But however it comes (and come it will) it still leaves the living lonely. Someone's life is shattered everyday as they lose someone they love, but in that same moment, someone's lives are completed as they welcome new life or meet their 'one and only'. How can so much joy and so much grief be experienced simultaneously? How does the whole world not stop when someone leaves it or enters it?

I wish I could sit down with someone who has experienced this kind of loss and ask them how they wake up every morning and function. How do they move on? How do they keep their world from stopping? How can they experience joy after experiencing such profound pain? How do they not live everyday in fear that death will come again?

Is it because of the balance of joy and pain? Can they continue because there is a promise out there that life is not over yet? Maybe they know somewhere in the back of their minds that there is someone somewhere experiencing a joy that is equivalent to their pain and that someday, that will be them.

Life, love, laughter, fun, joy, happiness...they are all waiting for us. As is death. But that's the thing: death only lasts for a moment; joy is eternal. There is always hope for happiness. The Lord designed it that way because He loves us. And He wants us to be happy and optimistic. He wants us to experience the kind of love that is so profound that the idea of losing it causes us overwhelming sadness...because then we get to love that way. The way He loves. Unconditionally. Wholly. Desperately. And then we can understand how important it is to Him that we come back to Him. Because He loves us the way I love Luke. And more. So hard that the idea of losing us is unbearable. Maybe that is why I hurt like this for death I've not known yet...so that I can understand the way that Heavenly Father loves me and wants me back.

Well.

Thanks blogger, for allowing that thought vomit.

As always, it's been extremely therapeutic.

And I Keep On Rockin'

"Worry is like a rocking chair; it will give you something to do, but it won't get you anywhere."

This evening, after my son was put down, I hopped on Pinterest to take a quick (Ha. Quick. Remember that one time when I lied about the length of time that I spent on Pinterest? Me too.) gander at all the lovelies there are in the world. I happened across a pin that linked me back to an article called "Top Five Regrets of the Dying". Intrigued, I clicked. These were collected by a nurse who had been working with the elderly for some-odd years and had collected a list of things they frequently said were their biggest regrets. She says these are the top five most common regrets:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

So I thought about it. I mean, I really thought about it, and I have to say if I were to die tomorrow...those would not be my top 5 regrets. I feel like I'm living the life I'm happy with living, I often play with my baby in lieu of doing dishes, I often tell people EXACTLY how I feel, I have a facebook (very useful in fulfilling desire number 4) and I generally allow myself to be plenty happy. HOWEVER. Each of these regrets branch off to create a single sub-category that I consider to be a very real behavior I exude that needs eradicating lest I do die tomorrow and it becomes my Regret Number One:

I worry.

I worry that my house will never be clean and someday the prophet will drop by to check on me and there will be a sink full of dishes, a dead bug chilling on the welcome mat, baby toys strewn about and folded laundry keeping the couch company. I worry that I'm not working hard enough. I worry that the feelings I express to others will offend them. I worry that people don't actually want to stay in touch with me and that I'm just clinging. I worry that I won't get enough sleep and that I'll be exhausted the next day. When I wake up in the middle of the night and my baby isn't crying, I worry that he's dead. (haha. No, really, though...I have to talk myself out of checking on him every single time.) I worry that I'm not being the perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect friend, perfect daughter, perfect employee. And I worry that when I'm sad, it must mean that I'm not trying hard enough to be happy.

I worry all the time. I'm a professional worrier. I don't WANT to be, but I don't know how NOT to be.

I don't want to have regrets when I die. I want to just know that I lived the best life that I knew how to live. I think it'll help to know that things don't end here. Things go on. It's not a one shot only type deal. There will be more beauty to discover if I miss some of the beauty here. There will be people to love if I can't love them all here. There will be work to do if I don't do it all here. There will be choirs to sing in, children to mother, people to meet and places to explore.

BUT...I don't want to worry my life away! I don't want to constantly need a plan. I don't want to constantly be in a frenzy or a hurry or a panic. I want to let things go. Things will go wrong, I won't be perfect, I'll make mistakes, tragedies will hit, hard times will be gone through. I want to be okay with that! But it causes a pit in my stomach just thinking about all that unknown over which I have no control.

Worry is so inherently a part of me. It's engrained into my very being. How do I etch that out?? How do I melt those parts away?

I don't know. I just don't know yet.

Suggestions?

Luke Hating Bananas

Why I Love Me Some Saturday

Yesterday, while my son did this:

I wanted to turn this:

And this:

Into: ..well...not that. (I can't give it all away at the beginning...I'm trying to be more mysterious. It's womanly.)

I've been working on making my living room un-ugly. It's going smashingly so far. As many of you know, we're on an EXTREMELY tight budget...so I've been attempting to do these projects for little (and preferably no) cost to us. It's been an exciting challenge and so far, I'm loving the results. We got new couches, (Cost: nothing out of pocket.) a dining table, (Cost: nothing out of pocket.) a new entertainment center (Cost: nothing out of pocket) and I've also finished a few projects I found on Pinterest. (Cost for three projects: around 30 dollars because I lack in basic crafting necessities and am only now building up my supplies.) I love finding bargains. I'm in love with yard sales, (though I'm still figuring out how to do the whole 'early' thing with a four-month old son) craigslist (for more on how I get things for free on craigslist...stay tuned to my youtube channel. Michelle and I are considering doing a 'thrifting' special. Be. Excited.) and of course...thrift stores.

So yesterday was the day I'd decided to do my gallery wall. We got beautiful photos taken at our wedding, but I hadn't gotten a display together in which to..well..display them. After doing a bit of research on gallery walls and such, I finally decided to take the plunge. DID YOU KNOW WAL MART HAS 3 DOLLAR FRAMES?? Bless that store. Bought three 3 dollar frames (so this project cost me a total of 9 dollars being as I already had several frames) and set to work.

First I figured out the layout I wanted on the floor as I was taught. I did not, however, do the newspaper outline which probably would have been helpful, but I decided not to conform.

Then, I recruited my fabulously handsome husband to help me put my vision onto the wall. He did a tremendous job.

After a few, "Tilt it to the right!"s and "Oops...that's a quarter of an inch too high"s. We had completed our first gallery wall. I think it looks fabulous! I'm really excited about how it turned out:

Props to Brianne and Ky for gifting me two of the pictures. Kyla gave me the on on the left that says, "A true love story never ends." I LOVE it!! And Brianne made the one on the right. It has our family name over a transparency of The Proclamation to the World.

The Video...finally!

I was right! Uploading to youtube was WAY faster and easier. So. FINALLY...here is a video of Luke. Now that I know how to do it, I'll probably post a bunch more.

The Definition of Parental Desperation:

is when you try to time the flush of the toilet to perfectly coincide with the loudest surge of the noise generator's wave sounds that are keeping your baby asleep during nap time.

A quick update:

Thrice I have now attempted to upload a video of my son being cute to blogger; thrice I have been denied the fruits of my labors. (My labors: I pushed several buttons and then waited.) Today I will attempt to first upload the video to youtube and THEN post it to blogger. Maybe it will work? Keep your eyes peeled...a video is forthcoming. I hope.

They replaced our hot water heater now enabling us to enjoy warmth despite the fact that we share hot water with the mother, father and SIX DAUGHTERS that live next-door to us and share one bathroom. I love being able to do dishes without waiting an hour after showering. It's the little things...

Shem and I are reading our Christmas present. My dad gave us a copy of Dave Ramsey's "The Total Money Makeover". We're learning how to be rich. It's most exciting.

I have to go to the bank, make about 5 or 6 phone calls, (one of which is to the government so it should take approximately 8 years) clean my room, finish cleaning the kitchen, put the crock-pot meal together that we're supposed to be eating for dinner and finish my laundry. And yet. Here I sit. Blogging. *sigh* Nap times are so precious.

In attempt not to squander the time given to me by the napping gods, I should go. And do things.